


Catch-22

by KLaxAddict



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Aftercare, Dacryphilia, Danger Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Incest, Jesus I don't even know this is the filthiest thing I've ever written, M/M, Morty likes to get caught, NOTHING BUT SIN, Overstimulation, PWP, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, consentual gaslighting?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 11:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLaxAddict/pseuds/KLaxAddict
Summary: “We'd have to leave, Morty. Pack up and move dimensions again, all because you have a pervy little kink for getting caught with your Grandpa's dick up your ass.”Morty has a kink for getting caught in the act in dangerous positions. Rick is nothing if not accommodating in the worst ways.





	Catch-22

**Author's Note:**

> Morty's age is never specified, but Beth & Jerry are still together so do with that what you will. Unbeta'ed because I have no idea who would beta a piece of flaming trash like this sin.
> 
> Update: Now edited to include the truly stunning artwork some wonderfully talented Anon sent me!!

Rick sinks back into the couch, one arm splayed over the back as he takes a drink. The house is quiet except for the sounds of a TV edit of '3 Brothers' in the foreground and the increasing hiccuping moans as Morty slowly rides his dick.

The teen had started to get twitchy the second the door had closed behind Summer, off for her shift at whatever bullshit part-time gig she was holding down now. Morty had started slowly drifting towards Rick on the sofa, toeing off his shoes and socks along the way. Rick had to try not to snort, cracking open the second beer of his six pack. Little shit was about as subtle as a ton of bricks.

He'd played dumb as long as he justifiably could (and maybe a little longer), seemingly captivated by reruns and cheap beer, until Morty was nearly humping his leg, desperate for attention but too chickenshit to say anything.

Now, spread out on the couch, he had a perfect view of both the TV and the sheen of sweat over the muscles in Morty's back as he worked himself up and down on Rick's cock. His thighs were starting to tremble, and he'd had to steady himself with one hand on the couch's arm.

Rick drained the last of the beer, checking the time on his watch as he did so, and threw the can behind the sofa with the others. Yep, he'd timed it just right.

“H-how you doing there, Morty?”

“R-Rick! I can't take this much longer.”

“Shhhhh... babe. You're the one - you wanted to take it slow more often, right? I always gotta hear you moan whenever I bend you over the workbench and go to town on your pretty little ass. This - this is supposed to be a reward, Morty.”

A low groan rips from Morty's throat, and he falls back against Rick's front, dropping his head back against his grandfather's shoulder. He's lost his leverage like this, but he keeps circling his hips, gazing up at Rick adoringly, fat drops of sweat from his hair already soaking through the seated man's lab coat.

“Kiss me?” It's not begging, it's a plea. A petty distinction, but one Rick is begrudgingly willing to recognize finds its way around the rules. The kid does know how to hit his buttons by now.

“Nice try. Come on, Morty, get back up there.”

Morty whines now, all coy pleading and eyelashes gone in an instant, as he pulls himself away from the body beneath him.

“I can't get off like this!! I - I need... something! Anything!”

Rick smirks. Morty can come untouched, but it's rare as hell and they both know it. Not to mention the fact that by now he's probably so overstimulated he'll have a hard time unwinding enough to come at all. As much as he's been angling for it, if Rick actually did wrap a hand around his aching dick, it would probably just leave him squirming and sobbing, unsatisfied.

There's only one way Morty's going to be able to come tonight, and Rick is damn sure the last two hours of ground work aren't going to be a waste.

Sighing dramatically, he sits up, wrapping an arm around Morty's chest and pulling him back towards him, the teen squeaking as he adjusts to the new position. Leaning down to nip at the brunet's ear, he says agreeably, “Well, I suppose we'd better hurry it up, Morty. Your parents are going to be home in a few minutes.”

Morty flushes pink instantly, and Rick marvels at how far it travels down his neck and back. It's not hard, given the nature of their relationship and their fucked up lives to see where Morty's danger and exhibitionism kinks came from, but fuck it, they slot too nicely with Rick's own personal perversions for him to avoid playing with them whenever possible. He can feel Morty start to tense beneath him, breath coming a little too erratically, and as the boy's mouth starts to open, inevitably to try to talk Rick and himself out of what he now knew was coming, Rick finally, _finally_ starts to fuck him.

All that came out of Morty's protest was a quiet “oh” of exhalation, as his hands scrabble for the couch once more to regain some control, while Rick finally gives him what he's been fishing for all afternoon. His arm tightens like an iron bar across Morty's chest, holding him in place as he drives up into the overstimulated teen, groaning in relief.

Sure, Morty had learned more than a few tricks while they'd been fucking, (there was no way that Rick Sanchez was going to let his grandson get a reputation as a sloppy lay), but sitting and keeping his hands to himself hadn't done too much for him after a while. If it hadn't have been for Morty's obviously growing frustration, Rick's plans for a grand finale, and the sheer fucking power trip of it all, he might have lost his erection and ended up with a pouting teen and a passive-aggressive comment about age and substance abuse. But _this_ , this was worth the wait.

He had gotten Morty to do all the work for him. Utterly worn out and wound up, he was sweating and shaking like a junkie after a rough night. Rick doubted he could stand if he had to. Moisture had curled the edges of his hair, and from the reflection Rick could see in the TV, his pupils were blown out to the size of saucers. Whimpers and keens fell from slack lips as he set a bruising pace. Not deep, but enough to drag against Morty's rim and prostate with every movement of his hips. Morty's wriggling quickly evolves into thrashing, though it seems like less of a concerted attempt to escape the barrage on his senses than a loss of control.

Well then, now was as good a time as any. Rick slows his pace and growls in his ear, “Morty.”

The teen's movements still immediately, responding automatically to Rick's 'pay attention or end up shot' voice. He waits until he's certain he has his grandson's full attention, then continues. “I'm not going to stop, Morty.”

He can feel Morty's unvoiced confusion, laced with a dash of panic. Lust-addled brains trying to figure out the new game and his role in it. Is he supposed to beg? To struggle? To convince Rick not to stop by any means necessary?

Rick takes pity on him, and uses his free hand to guide Morty's jaw towards the clock on the wall. Absentmindedly sucking on Rick's fingers and moaning at Rick's shallow thrusts, Morty still takes a minute to recognize what he's supposed to be seeing; the time on the clock. Approximately five minutes later than Beth and Jerry had told them they'd be home from the movies.

Morty's breath hitches around Rick's fingers, and his neglected erection twitches and drips onto Rick's pants.

“I'm not going to stop, Morty,” Rick repeats, grinning now that all players have joined the game. “What're they going to do?”

The teen tries to speak, but Rick shoves his fingers deeper into his mouth and resumes his earlier pace, fucking him from both ends with sharp, shallow thrusts, and reducing Morty's pleas to gurgling moans.

“They - they can't do anything, Morty. Even if they walked in and saw you - saw us like this, it wouldn't change anything. All that would be different is that they'd know all the ways you were my filthy little bitch, instead of just assuming.”

Morty's trying to shake his head now, tears forming in eyes from shame and lack of oxygen. Rick pulls his fingers free and wraps his hand around Morty's bicep.

“You know, they're not stupid, Morty. No teenage girls leave hickeys that wide or that deep. But you beg me for them just the same, don't you. You like flaunting your dirty little secrets at the breakfast table. Maybe I should fuck you at the breakfast table next, really c-complete the little fantasy.”

Rick digs his fingers into Morty's arm, guaranteeing he's going to leave a handprint bruise you could pull his prints off for the court case. The teen moans, deep and low, at the pressure, and starts to babble incoherently. He's crying in earnest now, tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he tries to summon the last of the strength in his legs to meet Rick's thrusts.

Headlights flare through the house from the front windows, but Morty's eyes are closed, and there's only a slight chance he'd have noticed if they weren't. Changing tacks, Rick lowers his voice and adopts a serious tone, wiping tears from Morty's face with saliva-soaked fingers. “W-We'd have to leave, Morty. Pack up and move dimensions again, all because you have a pervy little kink for getting caught with your Grandpa's dick up your ass.”

The muffled sounds of bickering and car doors slamming jar through the quiet living room, and Morty's eyes fly open, a panicked groan tearing from his chest.

Rick tightens his grip, and continues thrusting into his grandson at the same battering pace. In a quiet, pondering tone, he adds, “Shame, I rather like this version of Summer.”

They're at the door now, Beth performing her usual choreographed search for the house keys she insists on burying at the bottom of her purse, refusing to ask Jerry for his.

Morty stares in horror at the direction of the front door, one hand still ripping claws into the couch cushions while the other hovers above his weeping cock, seemingly unsure this is really happening.

Rick drops an incongruously gentle kiss to Morty's neck, obscenely chaste for its context, and whispers his last entreaty.

“What're they going to do? They can't stop me, and you w-, you don't want to stop me.”

The door swings open just as Rick wrenches Morty's arm behind his back, preventing him from touching himself or hiding his face at the last second.

Morty comes as he locks eyes with his parents, his sore and aching dick spurting untouched across his chest and the carpet as he sobs and shrieks with the intensity of his orgasm.

Rick doesn't wait for him to finish, still shaking and crying in his lap as he grabs the memory wiper from between the couch cushions and hits the button on the top for a concentric blast wave.

The teen collapses sideways onto the couch beside him, wrung out emotionally and physically nearly to the point of blacking out. Rick looks down at him and groans. If he hadn't already been close to going off, the sight beneath him was straight out of his most fucked up personalized wet dream. Morty looks absolutely wrecked, tears and snot covering his face, come splattered up his chest, a drop even hanging from his chin. His whole frame is shaking and sweaty, and he's looking at Rick like he's the only solid land in a sea of piranhas. The old man can't remember ever seeing a more gorgeous sight.

Fisting himself quickly, he reaches down to pet through the wet mess of curls on Morty's head.

“Open that pretty mouth for me, babe.”

Morty's mouth falls open a fraction, his eyes already drifting shut, and Rick pulls it the rest of the way with his thumb, just in time to paint Morty's face and chest with strings of come. Jesus, it's been a while since he had a marathon session. He forgot how much he can produce.

Morty's eyes are closed, and from his breathing it looks like he's fallen asleep, at least for the moment. Rick climbs to his feet, wincing at the numbness in his legs and feet. He can only imagine what Morty must feel like. Zipping his fly and running a hand through his hair he looks presentable, which is to say like his usual self after a day or two of hard drinking and no showers.

Beth and Jerry are still standing quietly by the open door, expression blank. The blast should have taken out the last thirty minutes or so, right around the time their movie got out.

“Both of you, get back in the car, and circle the block for twenty minutes. You blew a tire on the way home, that's why you're late.”

Expressions cheerful now that they knew what they were doing, the couple file out of the door and towards the car. Rick promptly locks the door behind them and returns to the mess he'd made of Morty on the couch.

Morty was awake, and curled into the couch like an Andy Capp cartoon, fresh tears threatening to fall down the tracks left from old ones.

Rick sinks back into the couch next to him, his hand automatically falling back onto the boy's head. Silently, Morty climbs back onto his lap, and buries his face into the shoulder of Rick's lab coat, back heaving with quiet sobs.

With a heavy sigh, the older man offers the usual deal, rubbing small circles into his grandson's back.

“Your choice, Morty. Do you want to remember this time or not?”

The teen shakes his head, still not looking up to meet Rick's gaze.

“You sure?”

“I-It's... I-I... I can't...” Morty's rasping voice breaks off into choked sobs.

Counting that as verbal confirmation, Rick begins to shush the incoherent cries. “Shhhh... It's okay, Morty. It's all gonna be okay. I got you, dawg.”

Wrapping the shaking teen in his arms, he pulls out his portal gun and stands, instantly taking them to the upstairs bathroom. He might still have what it takes to fuck his grandson into a coma, but carrying his scrawny ass up the stairs was another thing altogether.

Setting Morty down on the toilet seat, he starts to draw a bath, throwing in some frou-frou shit Summer bought and complained cost too much to actually use. While the tub fills he gently goes over Morty with a washcloth and a dermal regenerator, removing the handprint he'd etched into the boy's arm.

Morty was quiet now, and hummed with pleasure as he was deposited into the warm water of the tub.

“Thank you,” he murmurs sleepily, eyes fluttering shut again. Rick smiles tersely, and reaches down to bring his jaw up for a kiss.

“Anytime, babe. Hey, look at me?”

The flash of the memory eraser bounces off the white tile of the bathroom, and Rick turns to clean up the last of the mess downstairs before Beth and Jerry return home again.

Still, he thinks. Four times out of six isn't bad.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the dirtiest thing I've ever written after two years of not writing fic, holy shit. I cannot believe that THIS is what broke my dry spell. Comments are incredibly loved, I haven't written porn in almost a decade.
> 
> I'm Klaxaddict over on Tumblr as well, please come say hi. 
> 
> (And if by any chance someone happens to draw art inspired by this... PLEASE let me know)


End file.
